Fail-Safe
by Mistykins06
Summary: God help her. Sherlock once more is asking Molly for her help. Not to live, no not this time. This time he ask her to do something even harder. To help him die. Rated M for language, mentions of death and Drug use and Mature behavior.


 **Noun: a system or plan that comes into operation in the event of something going wrong or that is there to prevent such an occurrence**.

The last person she expected to see at her door late on Christmas was Mycroft's coworker Anthea. The woman came bursting in after Molly had answered the knock at the door dressed down in the most expensive pair of jeans Molly had ever seen not on a mannequin in a window display at Selfridge's and an equally expensive drapping white cashmere sweater but her hair was tossed up into what would be described as a messy bun yet on Anthea it looked perfect. The face the woman wore, fully devoid of makeup, her eyes red rimmed made Molly stumble back and not even consider her own clothing choices which were as far from elegant as one could possibly get.

Something was wrong. Bad wrong.

Anthea quickly explained why she'd come. : Sherlock had essentially gone rogue and killed a man in cold blood. There was nothing that anyone could do, not even Mycroft. But Anthea had squeezed her hand, commanded her to stay strong and let Molly know that she would make sure that she was kept informed... And reminded her that as always, this was all confidential and that if she told anyone what she had learned than there would be quote 'hell like none other to pay.'

After Anthea departed Molly made herself tea and sat down not at all sure why she did because she just let it get icy before she remembered it was inches from her.

Wasted. 

At that tiny, insignificant thing Molly wept until she was sick and collapsed weak and empty beside her toilet, as she cried herself to sleep on the bathroom floor.

The next day Mary Watson showed up at her door, seeking her own comfort. John it seemed was being held too and she was trying to not go tearing into the high risk security prison he was being at. Why she'd come to Molly, the tiny woman wasn't all together sure but she was glad that she'd come none the less. It helped somehow. Mary reminded her that she was not alone as she felt.

Two days past that Molly received a text from a restricted number.

 **He has asked to see you. If you wish to see him then get in the car that will arrive at 8am. - A**

She debated on going, or rather pretended to debate the end she was always going to be there for Sherlock Holmes whenever he called for her. No matter what it cost her or her heart to do so.

Her ride was a solitary one. It took her far, far from the city and onto a private estate in the country that she'd never seen or heard of that looked more and more like a secret military base the further they traveled past the great house. The message of high security was everywhere. There'd be no possibility of escape. Not even for the fantastic Sherlock Holmes. Molly felt her heart clench. How he must be suffering! For a man like him this was torture.

It took passing through three more gated entrances before the car came to a stop in front of a small building, no bigger than a potters shed with Mycroft Holmes waiting by the door.

"So good of you to come. He is anticipating your visit." With that the man walked slowly towards her car to take her place to drive off.

Leaving her staring at then pale olive green metal door before her.

She waited, curious and afraid to find out what awaited her beyond that door. Timidly she knocked, but no answer came. Finally she tried the door, surprised to find the lock turned with ease. Revealing a small cinder block yellow room with a bed in one corner and a toilet and sink in the other with a table and two chairs in the centre where Sherlock say with his head cast down into crossed arms. Molly stepped in and shut the door behind her waiting for him to acknowledge her entrance. Slowly he raised his head and looked at her. His grey eyes scanned her from her scuffed up brown boots up over her orange vintage dress and past the warm sweater she wore. But when he reached her face he looked at everything about her, noticing the braided that she used to part he hair the way he liked. The simple lip balm and make up and finally getting brave enough to reach her eyes.

And when he did... Oh when he did Molly's broken heart broke all over anew. His eyes looked so vacant, so hurt: hopeless. They looked at one another and each waited for the other to say something.

What does one say to a murder?

How does one even begin to apologize for hurting someone who supposedly mattered the most, but to whom he wasn't able to keep from hurting?

In the end she simply started laughing, a single mad giggle that escaped her only to have her cover her lips in embarrassment.

"Dare I ask what, at a moment like this is so amusing?"' He asked through a tight voice.

"It's just that... Well... We both are wearing orange." She dismissively waved her hand over in his direction indicating the fluorescent orange jumpsuit that he was attired in, "and this time you are the one in the obscenely bright hue. You know, since I'm normally the one who-"

"Molly Hooper, are you accusing me of not being able to pull off this ensemble?" Sherlock stood, gesturing to his waist and Molly released much to her relief that he was unshackled. This relief was quickly dismissed as she watched him striding (if one could actually stride in such a small space) to stand directly in front of her. "You came."

Suddenly he reached out and Molly found herself being clutched tightly into his chest as he murmured 'I'm sorry' over and over again into her hair.

And then she was crying. But so was he, although he gave very little indication of doing so other than a steady stream of tears that dripped in her face and hair. Her arms had swiftly pulled him as close as she possibly could, breathing in the scent of his clean jumpsuit and the familiar tantalizing smell of him underneath it. They stayed clinging to one another for the better part of an hour and Molly finally pulled away and realized that he had moved them to the bed along a wall and she was sitting on his lap. 'Oh' she breathed out, attempting to scramble backwards away from him, Sherlock held her firmly and soothed her, "please Molly. Not yet."

It was then that she realized that she had no idea how long she was supposed to be staying. Or exactly why she was here. The thought made her cling to him all the more.

"I had to do it. I had to keep them safe." He whispered a few minutes later. Molly almost moved to see his face, but second guessed it, knowing how he had a hard time saying the things he meant most.

"Who, Sherlock?"

"The Watson's. All of them were in danger and I made a vow to keep them safe. I had to do it. I had to keep my word. They'll be safe now."Quiet surrounded them again but now Sherlock's hands were rubbing gently up and down her back slowly exploring the terrain. Comforting, lulling her into a peaceful state of being. It been a long long time since she'd been held like this. In a way that made her feel safe, secure and... And loved.

Sherlock Holmes loved others so much. It was so surprising, so at odds with he man that he that he presented to the rest of the world. He loved so purely, so fully that he'd be willing to do anything to keep those he loved safe be if jumping off a building or committing murder.

It was so Goddamned unfair. A sentiment that she apparently spoke out loud. And one he disagreed with.

"Is it?" He paused and Molly knew instinctively that he needed to say more. "It only goes to show I was right every time I warned others about the defects of sentiment. Every time I pushed someone away I was making the right call. Protecting myself. Protecting them even.

"But I couldn't listen to my own advice could I? No, I had to grow weak and before I knew it you lot all breached my defenses, each of you relentlessly attacking me, making me lower by defenses as you stole pieces of me. I grew foolish, weak and sentimental and now look where it got me?

"Locked up alone and waiting for my big brother to find where is best to let me rot."

Sherlock pushed her off of him suddenly, standing and circling the room as if he were fighting himself inside his head.

"That's the part that's not fair." Molly quietly agreed. She lay back on the bed leaning back on her elbows watching him. "You love your friends so much and we barely get to show you how much we love you. It's not fair "

He glanced darkly at her. "I'm not exactly worthy of anyone's love Molly. You forget constantly that I am not a hero, no matter how hard you wish me to be."

"Shut up! God, will you quit telling yourself that you aren't because you bloody well are. You are a hero, you giant pain in the arse! How many lives have you saved, lost people that have been found, killers you're put away-"

"Like myself, you are forgetting."

"No. No, I'm not. You killed because you were protecting others. I'm not excusing it or saying you were right to do so. It was an awful thing to do but if I were in that position than you know damn well that I'd have done the same to keep you safe.

"I killed you once, didn't I? Broke countless laws, ignored moral codes, oaths and risked everything, EVERYTHING to keep you safe. And I'd still do it again if it meant you would be okay." She was trying not to shout but it became unavoidable by the end. She raised herself to stand on her knees as she spoke. He stepped in front of her and held his hands on either side of her face.

"And what did you get for your trouble, eh Molly Hooper?" His eyes bore into her own. "What have I ever done that justified your actions? Your sacrifices?" Slowly he brought his forehead down to her own and Molly dared herself enough to place her own hands on his hips. "I don't deserve you."

"Stop saying that."

"I dream about you Molly. Did you know that? Or maybe its more of a fantasy..." His eyes went unfocused as he pulled back to look at her. "While I was off making the world 'safe' I'd dream of the day I would come home to all of you. John was supposed to be at Baker Street with Mrs Hudson and they both were supposed to have wept happy relieved tears while you... You my darling friend were to have flung yourself into my arms kissing me senseless. I wouldn't be able to tell you no and from there," he looked at her so tenderly, "I was to be yours evermore."

A sigh escaped Molly as she comprehended what he'd revealed. "Is that what was also supposed to happen here? Was I supposed to be running to you the moment I saw you embracing you and being forever... Yours?" Her voice broke at the end.

"No to be honest, while I did expect you to launch yourself at me to, it was more alone the lines of beating me into a bloody pulp." He answered

"And you'd have let me?" Molly asked, her dubiousness obvious in her voice.

"Yes, of course I would have. You and you alone have that right." Grazing his thumb down her cheek he tentatively caressed the edge of her lip in such a way that Molly felt weak-kneed and breathless. "After all I've done to hurt you, I'd let you do anything you wished to me."

"Anything?" She queried. "Even this?" Molly Hooper didn't wait for his answer, she pushed higher and used one arm to reach around his neck pulling him down to meet her eager kiss. An action he willingly approved of as he wasted not one second but began kissing her deeply, wholly. Together they clung and met each other as Molly allowed herself to fall back once more to the bed, this time Sherlock followed her down. Holding her kissing her as deeply as he'd always longed to do.

Her hands held him so close, tight but were soon roaming up over his shoulders and down his chest and began undoing the snaps of his jumpsuit. "Molly. Molly wait ...stop." She stilled instantly and opened her eyes to look a him. Sherlock watched her instantaneous embarrassment and self-censoring but quickly kissed her to assure her that he wasn't trying to say that he didn't want what she was offering, that he'd done it so that he could speak. "It's not you. Believe me I want you. Badly. Its just that you need to understand. This place... It's meant for conjugal visitations. While we are mercifully alone physically we are however being monitored. Through video." He nodded to a pinhole camera up above the window across from the bed.

"Oh." Oh... Instantly she felt violated. Exposed as if she had been caught making-out in the backseat of a car like a teenager.

"Now please know I don't ask for you for that particular intention. Um... That is to say I don't have any expectations that you'd... That we... that's not why I wanted to see you. Although I do rather obviously have interest in it. In you. In... sex. Sex with you." Sherlock offhandedly gestured towards his undeniable erection. "But I asked you to come because I needed to see you before I... I've need to apologize to you for everything. And I need to tell you now before I lost all my ability to think clearly and couldn't stop myself."

"You would want us to continue?" She asked amazed glancing from the camera back to him.

"What I want," he watched her carefully, "is to show you just how much I want to be with you far, far away from this place. I want to be able to have this development between us in my bedroom at Baker Street or even in your tiny excuse of a bed at your flat, but that's not going to happen. I may as well wish to go back in time and not kill-"

"You're not coming back, are you Sherlock? This is the only chance, the only moment for us isn't it? This is why I'm here? Some 'now or never' last chance?" Molly asked, already knowing the answer he would not say aloud but that his eyes answered with immediately. With one more glance at the camera Molly shifted herself out from underneath him to stand. She walked over to the sink and poured water over hands and raising them to her flushed face and neck, praying that the sudden feeling of nausea would ebb as swiftly as it came on. She breathed in and turned to watch Sherlock who had sat himself up on the bed, his elbows on his drawn up knees as he looked at the wall ahead of him, his cheek twitching as he swallowed thickly. The heat of her anger faded quickly as she watched him. There'd be time she knew to rehash the anger later but the time now wasn't it. He needed her. Needed to be loved as he had loved others. Unselfishly. "Where are they taking you?"

He still wouldn't look at her as he answered. "It is still being determined. There will be no trial, i've confessed and there are dozens of witnesses. No sense denying my guilt. Therefore, most likely I will be sent to a high security prison, mostly in solitary confinement. As you can imagine, I wont be safe among the common prisoners. Particularly the ones I insured their own capture."

"Solitary! But you'd go-"

"Mad?" He turned his head back to her, watching her discomfort at the idea. "In all likelihood, yes I will. Quickly."

"There has to be another way; you are Sherlock Holmes, how can they just keep you locked away? Even if your not free there's got to be another way-"

"Mycroft is looking into it. Before this newest development the powers that be made me a job offer. An offer I turned down easily as it would take me away from London for an extended period of time. Mycroft is asking if they would consider my willingness to take it on as an alternative to a more traditional sentence. Finally make me into the good little secret agent they always wanted me to be."

"That's not a good thing either is it?" Molly knew her voice sounded hallow as she asked.

"If they agree then Sherlock Holmes as you know me will cease to exist. I'll be killed off in some mundane, menial traffic incident no doubt before I begin my new life as an agent of her Majesty. New name, new life. No pesky lose ends.

"So you see Molly? No matter which outcome they choose for me for I am a dead man walking. The life I knew before has officially come to an end." He spoke bluntly and harshly and Molly knew she'd finally seen just why he'd looked hopeless when she'd first arrived. Molly came back over and sat on the opposite end of the bed from him looking at him, thinking about what would come next for him.

After a few moments Molly took one of his hands in both of her own, bending down and kissing his palm. "What do you need?" She finally whispered. Hating the way it always came back to this question between them. A sentiment he shared apparently based on his slamming his eyes shut.

"The last time you asked me that I was just as good as dead as I am now and you managed to do the impossible and save me." His strong hand gripped hers hard. "I can not, and will not ask you to do that again. It's not that he same. Circumstances are not what they were then and there is no escape option available to me. One way or another I will soon be dead."

"Sherlock, I'm asking you again. What do you need?" She was able to ask it with a stronger voice although her gut was clenching at what she owing what he was asking her for.

"You." He trembled out leaning back against the wall to watch her reaction as his eyes said what he could not say out loud.

God help her. She could do nothing to save his life. But he still needed her. Because this time Sherlock Holmes wasn't asking her to help him live, but to help him to die.

/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_

 _Please forgive me... my heart breaks even writing this. So much so that i didn"t get it Betad. More is coming soon, and I hope you'll follow along._

 _Mistykins06_


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